


hard like a rock, cold like stone

by cryoreal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cupid/Psyche AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryoreal/pseuds/cryoreal
Summary: Written for the Jon x Sansa Remix, Round Three, day 4: mythological/fairy tale.Jon as Cupid, Sansa as Psyche, Cersei as Venus, Rhaegar as Apollo.The daughter of the King and Queen of Winter is unmarried, despite her surpassing beauty. The king prays to the god Rhaegar, who tells him that Sansa is not to be married to any mortal man, but instead will marry a god.





	hard like a rock, cold like stone

In the kingdom of the far North, the King and Queen of Winter had two daughters, both stunning in a way that mortals should not be. Sansa was the elder, and many considered her more beautiful, yet the years passed without a marriage proposal. 

Those who lived in the winter castle and surrounding grounds whispered behind their hands that Sansa was Venus come again, that she must be a goddess. How else could one explain her auburn hair, contrasting so perfectly with ivory skin that gleamed like a pearl, and the glow from two chipped sapphires resting above her cheekbones?

Despite the protests of the King and Queen, their people began to worship Sansa, forsaking their true goddess, Cersei. 

Cersei sat atop Mount Olympus, her chest tight, and called for her son. 

Jon looked nothing like his mother, their beauty absolute opposites to the last. Cersei was golden-haired and fair, her features sculpted from stone, willowy in a way that no human could imitate. Jon was hers, yet his hair was black silk, his skin dark from constant travel, his lips more pouty than she could ever imagine. 

“This child thinks she is a goddess,” Cersei scoffed, ever offended by the human’s tiresome activities. “Dear son, do go show her the true power of a god. Pierce her with your arrow, so that she may fall in love with one of those horrid direwolves they love. Return to me when your task is finished.” 

“Of course, Mother,” Jon sighed. Always quick to see a fault, Cersei was impossible to talk down from a challenge. Jon had enacted her revenge on many a human before, and one more was no bother to him.

It never got boring on Olympus with Cersei there. 

Jon flew to the Kingdom of Winter on quick wings. Best not to keep Cersei waiting, when the task was so easy to complete. Once she had sent him to the Kingdom of Iron to punish some minor lordling, and he had nearly been knocked from the sky by the fierce winds. The northern kingdom was cold, but nothing that Jon couldn’t handle. 

When he arrived in the winter lands, the castle wasn’t terribly hard to find. Everything was coated in snow save for one hulking castle, built to withstand the hardest of storms. This, he knew, was where he’d find his mother’s rival. 

Despite the cold, Sansa was kneeling on the hard ground in front of a great tree, covered in layers of fur to keep her warm. Jon landed at the other end of the field, taking care to quiet his steps as he pulled his bow over his shoulder and an arrow from his quiver. 

He must not have taken as much care as he hoped, because as he tiptoed closer to her form, her back suddenly straightened and she whipped her head around, copper hair flying in a halo around her, and Jon stopped short.

The people weren’t wrong to worship her, he realized quickly. She was more beautiful than Cersei could ever be. 

“Who are you?” Sansa demanded imperiously, and Jon realized his hands were shaking. She drew herself up tall, on her feet, and he noticed, stupidly, that she was taller than him. 

“My name is Jon.” He felt dumb, and he began to lower his hands, realizing his bow was still pointing straight at her. 

“And why are you threatening a princess?” She seemed almost haughty, until Jon noticed her hands were shaking just as much as his. 

“I didn’t mean…” As his hands shook, the one holding his arrow nicked his knee, between the bottom of his skirt and his boots. _Oh, fuck me._

Instant warmth flowered from the wound, and although Jon had never felt the effects of his arrows before, he knew why those he shot would go to such extreme lengths. 

“You’re bleeding,” Sansa said, her brow furrowed in concern, and Jon wanted to drop to his knees at her feet. Instead, he forced himself to take one step backwards, and then another.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Princess,” he breathed, taking in as much of her as he could, feeling like gravity was tugging him towards her endlessly. 

“What did you say your name was, again?” She was following him, and he wanted to run to her, hold her, caress the tendrils of hair that kissed her shoulders.” 

“Jon,” he whispered, and somehow, he found the strength to turn his back and fly away from her, back home to Mother. 

Two weeks later, her father sits Sansa down in the solar with her mother and sister.

“I have consulted the oracle of Rhaegar about your situation, Sansa.” He was gruff, and she pulled her spine up straight. Arya had been married for years, yet Sansa was still unwed.

“And what did he say?”

“You are not to marry a human.” 

Catelyn whipped her head around, but Sansa was still with shock. 

“Who am I to marry, then?” 

The king sighed. “Apollo has shown me a terrifying creature, winged and scaled. You will be its wife.” 

Catelyn was horrified. Arya was laughing. Sansa felt nothing. 

“So be it, then.” Strangely resolute, she lifted her skirts and left the room. _The gods have strange plans for us,_ she mused, before locking herself in her chambers to sob. 

The next morning, they dressed her in black silk and covered her face with a veil. Catelyn couldn’t stop crying, but Sansa had shed her tears the night before, and would not cringe in front of her people. 

The procession bore her up the mountain in her casket until they set her down amidst the stars, and her father gripped her hand tightly. 

“May the gods have mercy on your soul.” Ever a hard man, he turned his back and left her, leading his people down the mountain, leaving Sansa there alone. 

When they were only halfway down, Catelyn turned at the sound of a thunderous clap. Tears still drying on her cheeks, she saw a monstrous being shoot through the clouds to circle the mountaintop. 

“Apollo told it true,” she murmured. The great black dragon landed gently, and a few moments later she watched as it leapt from the mountain, a speck of red in its claws, and disappeared through the clouds again. “Gods have mercy,” she echoed. 

Sansa kept her eyes tightly shut as the beast carried her through the clouds, over mountains and fields, to her new destiny. When it set her down gently among a bed of wildflowers, the experience finally overcame her, and she drifted too quickly into unconsiousness. 

When she awoke, the sun was tickling her skin. Sansa didn’t know how long she had slept, but she was hungry and thirsty, and much too hot in her black clothing.

She stripped off the cloak as she walked, throwing her veil along with it, and explored the meadow she had been left in. The great beast that brought her there was nowhere to be seen, but there was a building to her left, with great columns adorning the facade. 

The house was made of gold and marble, the finest of work, and the doors opened to her silently as she approached. _The gods are here,_ she thought, and it warmed her in a strange way. 

She entered into a great room filled with paintings and mosaics, a giant pool on the ground, and another set of doors opened to her, revealing a great feast.

 _Please, make yourself at home,_ Sansa heard, and she whirled around to look for the voice, to no avail. 

Her hunger returned in a rumble, and she finally decided to eat despite her misgivings. She gorged herself on delicate fruits and crusty bread to her heart’s content, and when she finally felt full, the sunlight was gone and the room had been plunged into darkness. 

She could hear footsteps, but without a candle, she felt quite lost.

“Who’s there?” She called uncertainly, standing from the table. 

A shadowed figure appeared next to her, and although she couldn’t make out his face, she felt safe.

“Come with me,” he murmured, and his voice sounded familiar, yet Sansa couldn’t place it. 

She took his hand as he guided her through the halls, stopping only when they got to a lavishly decorated bedroom. 

She trusted the man, although she didn’t know how, and she allowed him to lead her to the bed, stripping her of her clothes and himself of his own. 

“Please…” her voice cracked, and she didn’t know what she was asking for. 

“Trust me,” he whispered, and gods help her, she did. 

His hand stroked her hair, her face, the skin next to her hip, and she shivered though the room was warm. 

His face nuzzled into her neck, breathing deep, and his mouth worked its way over her collarbone to her breast, suckling at it gently while his hand rubbed circles on her hipbone. 

“Who are you?” she whispered, but he only switched his mouth to her other breast, lapping at her more earnestly, and she sighed, wriggling her hips under his.

Her hands gripped his neck, his curls, and she yanked his face away from her, but in the darkness she could barely see him. Only the contrast of his black hair to his fair skin, and the deep muscles in his back. 

He felt like a long-lost lover come home, and Sansa finally closed her eyes and allowed herself to fully enjoy his ministrations, his lips kissing down lower and lower until he nosed at her curls, spreading her apart with his fingers, tasting her deeply. 

He lapped at her eagerly, and Sansa arched her back hungrily, feeling a strange coil in the pit of her stomach growing tighter, and she tugged at his shoulders without success.

“Oh, _please_ ,” she moaned, and something in her stomach snapped and she called out a plea to the gods, spiraling upwards while he licked at her, stopping only when her hips had stopped circling towards his face. 

“Who _are_ you?” Sansa asked again, breathlessly, but he only chuckled quietly and walked himself up her body until she was absolutely covered in his warm skin, her hands stroking that muscled back. 

“Your new husband,” he finally answered, and Sansa felt cold and hot and happy all at once. 

He nudged at her opening, still wet from his tongue, and she nodded into his neck.

He pushed into her, slow at first, then faster once she relaxed her legs and pressed her lips into him. His groans were soft, but his hips moved erratically, and Sansa stroked his back, allowing him to take his pleasure.

When finally he was finished and his groans had turned to quiet sighs, he pulled himself from her and covered her with a blanket, his back to her.

“Might I look upon your face?” she called, and in the darkness she heard him chuckle. 

“You can look, my love, but in this darkness you’ll never see, and all the better for you.” He left the room with the silent tread of the gods, and Sansa felt empty again.


End file.
